


scrub a dub

by polkaprintpjs



Series: old west au [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bathing/Washing, Gen, Humanformers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, POV Second Person, Pre-Relationship, non-sexual nudity, old west au, period-accurate bathing methods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26152090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkaprintpjs/pseuds/polkaprintpjs
Summary: You adjust the water yoke on your shoulders and start the walk back from the well.The buckets threaten to slosh, so you slow down; this is the tenth trip and you’re ready to be done with it altogether.“Tell me we don’t need more water,” you say and you can see her smile.
Relationships: Tailgate & Whirl (Transformers)
Series: old west au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893397
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	scrub a dub

You adjust the water yoke on your shoulders and start the walk back from the well. 

The buckets threaten to slosh, so you slow down; this is the tenth trip and you’re ready to be done with it altogether. Still, it doesn’t take long before you’re easing into a squat to slide the yoke off. 

You leave it on the porch, leaning against the doorframe, and carry the buckets in by hand. Tailgate doesn’t look up from where she’s pouring steaming water into the metal tub you’d wheedled and annoyed Chromedome into letting you borrow- he usually uses it for the clothes he’s paid to launder and mend, but he can without for the evening. 

“Tell me we don’t need more water,” you say and you can see her smile. 

“No, those should be enough. Go ahead and add them, they’ll cool it enough we won’t cook like so much stew.” 

You do as she says. She returns the heavy stockpot to the woodburning stove in the kitchen; you know from experience she’s left just enough water at the bottom so the cooling metal doesn’t scorch from the heat of the stove. You drop the buckets in their place near the door. 

When you turn back to the tub, Tailgate has already undone her apron and is unbuttoning the back of her bodice. 

You spin to face the door again, face hot.

“I’ll just, wait outside then-” 

You’re fumbling for the latch when she sighs, patient. 

“Whirl, what are you talking about? Come, it’ll be cold before long.” 

You can’t quite grasp the leather strap that blocks you from freedom. 

“It wouldn’t be right. I’ll wait and just wash up after you’re done.” 

She’s behind you, now, and holds your arm. 

“Whirl. It’s all right, really.” 

You let yourself be pulled back to the tub, slowly fumbling with your shirt buttons. 

This feels illicit. 

It feels exactly as inappropriate as it is. 

You can’t make yourself truly mind. She’s unclothed first and waits for you, shameless. When your clothes are dumped in their own untidy pile, she waves you in first, in a mockery of a gentleman’s bow. 

“After you,” she says, smiling at her own joke. 

You’re too anxious to laugh, though, stomach twisting unpleasantly. You climb in and she goes behind; the tub is just big enough for the two of you. 

You reach for the cup she’d dropped in earlier so you can scoop water over your head, but you can’t quite grasp it. She reaches around your shoulder and takes it from your hand, and you can feel her breast brush your back. 

“Here, tilt your head up for me,” 

She says, and places one hand as a barrier so the water doesn’t drip into your eyes. You’d thought the water was warm when you first got in; now, though, it’s so hot your head spins from her closeness. 

She pours the cupful over your hair, then again, then again. 

“The soap, please?” 

It’s balanced on the edge of the tub in front of you. Mutely, you pass it back to her, hand shaking slightly with the strain of holding such a small object securely. 

You smell lavender when she lathers it; one of the store’s new wares, most likely. She begins to rub the lather into your hair, and you finally regain your senses, lifting your hands to scrub at your own head. 

This is demeaning of her, helping you with something so embarrassing as this; at the very least, you ought to be able to wash your hair without assistance. 

“Whirl,” she says, and that’s enough for your shoulders to slump and hands to lower. If she wants to help, you ought to accept it, considering you’ll hardly be clean if it’s left to you. She’s slow and thorough, and it’s aching moments later when she speaks. 

“Whirl, this is no trouble.” 

You can’t stop the way you go still and stiff. 

She’s kind, to be helping you, but the lie crosses into cruelty. 

You say as much, voice low and hurt despite your efforts.

“It’s an unkindness, to be sayin’ that to me.” 

She pauses and pulls her hands from your hair and you dig your nails into your thighs. It’s her right to be done with you, and you were being ungrateful besides. 

She leans forward and embraces you from behind, pulling your hands from your legs. You jerk, startled, but she holds fast; you can feel her cheek pressed against your shoulder and her breasts against your bony back. Your arms are wrapped around yourself like a hug, and she keeps them there. 

You try to ignore the shame scrabbling up your throat from your gut; it’s been so long now since you’ve had your own bloody flesh under your nails, and this is no time or place to begin again. 

It’s worse to know she anticipated it, worse still to know she thinks of your weakness. 

She holds you fast, though, just like this. 

It’s a moment more before you let your head tip forward, soapy hair falling into your face, and you close your eye reflexively. 

“I meant it. I care deeply for you, you know this.” 

You curl away from her without meaning such, and she goes with you. 

“After all,” she adds, pulling you back upright, “It’s not just anyone who’d travel across a sea and several thousand miles overland to keep me safe.” 

You force your clumsy tongue to form the words burning in your throat. 

“Only anyone decent,” you say and that isn’t what you’d meant to speak but by her soft agreement she still knows. 

She holds you until the water begins to cool noticeably. 

When she lets you go you can’t help but shiver in the new cold as she rinses your hair again, still protecting your eye from the suds. She keeps your head tilted back with a soft word as she uses the washcloth to clean your filthy arms. That, too, is nearly unbearable; the rasp of cloth over still-new scars and the fact that of the two of you, you’re the protector. You’re supposed to care for her, keep her safe and happy. 

This isn’t part of your respective roles. 

“There,” She says, scooting back. “Go ahead and dry off while I wash, all right?” 

You turn, slowly, kneeling up so you can face her. You take the cloth from her hand, eyes darting to her chest before you look aside, flustered. She sounds surprised, but pleased. 

“Thank you, Whirl. I’ll wash my hair meanwhile, yes?” 

You nod, voice still stolen with your own audacity. 

She turns and begins to wet her hair. You dip the washcloth into the water, now cool enough to chill, and carefully rub it along her shoulder.

* * *

“Leave it,” She says as she finishes twisting the rags into her hair. 

“It’ll keep until tomorrow.” 

You hesitate and look to the tub, critically. She’s right, of course; still, you itch to do something useful, to settle the unease still holding your shoulders tense. Emptying it bucket by bucket would be exactly the menial, laborous task you need. 

“Whirl,” She says and you look to her. She beckons you over. You can just see the lines of her body where the nightdress is wet to her skin- she was too impatient and too cold to dry herself properly, not that you lay blame. 

You go, of course, and slowly take her hand when she holds it out. She tugs and you kneel to sit on the pallet with her. 

“It’ll keep. Let’s just go to bed, all right? It feels far later than it has any right to, honestly.” 

You can’t stand the thought much less the sight of your mangled hand in her clean, unmarred one, so you look her in the eye instead, which is a mistake. 

She’s smiling, you think. 

Her blonde eyelashes and her soft eyebrows and the way her blue eyes are so  _ Tailgate _ and suddenly you can’t quite breathe. 

Suddenly you don’t miss the water’s warmth at all, flush spreading from your ears across your cheeks and down your throat. 

She’s definitely smiling then, and you’re so struck you can’t be embarrassed by your own pathetic shamelessness. 

“Whirl?” 

Her voice is amused and you’re so glad you’re here that now you really  _ can’t _ breathe. 

“It’ll keep,” You manage to say and your voice croaks like the bullfrogs you saw on your journey West. 

You could stay in this moment forever, clean and warm and with her.

**Author's Note:**

> :v: im on tumblr @megatronismegagone  
> anyway lmk what yall thought,, yes i write exclusively in 2nd person now <3 yes its bc i forgot how to do 3rd person. what of it  
> but rlly if u like it tell me plz <3


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